Once Upon an Immortal City
by Bhryn Astairre
Summary: Zack didn't die, Cloud did. Zack couldn't do anything right, all he ever got was failure. Now he chose to forget about it all... Only as time passes, so do tides turn. Stories change, cities fall and empires crumble... and skeletons in the closet must all come to light, one way or another. But can a hero overcome his own darkness to save the day?
1. Chapter 1

**Once Upon an Immortal City**

_**I'll let my stories be whispered when I'm gone...**_

**01: Why?**

* * *

He only had his back turned for a second. It was only that.

In that second of split time, where he had fallen to one knee and placed a pained hand over his shoulder where the bullet bit deep, his hand had loosened it's grip on the heavy sword. It was enough time for Cloud to run forward in a rage-fuelled mako haze, tearing the sword out of his hand and swinging it with a roll of his slender shoulders, overhead and cutting through two soldiers. Zack gritted his teeth, trying to focus against the pain but he was sluggish and slow; what had been in those bullets?

The last thing he saw as he lost consciousness was the sight of his friend hitting the ground next to him, blood clotting the dirt and eyes; nice blue eyes haunted by mako, staring up at the sun. Then, there was only silence.

* * *

"_And yet you are alive, so deal with it."_

"I'm alive," he breathed, lifting a hand to his face in the dim room. He was sequestered in a hospital wing of the ShinRa building, all other beds were empty save his own. Sometimes nurses came in to check on him, in immaculate white uniforms pinned with the red lurid logo of the company. Other times there were doctors. Once or twice, there had been Professor Hojo. He had stayed still, still as he dared without stopping his breathing, glaring hatefully up at him with his good eye: the other still swaddled in bandages and padding.

The good professor had merely smiled beatifically; He was the present delivered on a silver platter for his consumption.

Nimble fingers felt skilfully about the socket of his eye. They hadn't explicitly said if he could regain sight, let alone if he even would. Having an alarming loss of depth perception left him with crawling skin. His hearing too had suffered, both eardrums were blown out and still repairing slowly under the intensive materia treatments. His hair had been cut, not to any sort of style, roughly hacked off close to the scalp so they could bind him and treat him. Two small cannula were embedded in the side of his head, the side where he had an eye covered up. He didn't even want to consider what they were pumping him full of.

His body had been riddled with bullets but by some miracle he had managed to pull through it, taken away from the slaughter in secret by the Turks, by the silent and unknown orders of the President. He had a public image to maintain and specimens such as he was were far too valuable to lose. Especially now that no one knew what had truly become of Sephiroth.

He had heard the nurses speaking fearfully about it, in voices louder than whispers; still assuming his hearing wasn't repairing as quickly as it was. There were, after all, benefits to being a Soldier. His body had vanished, gone, after Cloud had thrown him aside into the reactor core, deep down where the mako bled out of the world.

Zack didn't think he was truly dead.

But then, Zack Fair would have also bet his last pay check that he could have saved Cloud.

He still remembered Cissnei's face as she left the small box of letters on his bedside table. The box was beautiful, it was carved with flowers, vines and leaves and on the lid was a sunrise, circled with stars fading into clouds, in delicate, poignant relief. Her slim hand had tapped the lid of the wooden box, fingers trailing thoughtfully a moment.

"_Inside here are all the letters she tried to send to you. All the hope and love she has for you is in this box, packed away neatly and waiting for you to be ready to read them. I can't tell you when that will ever be."_

Her eyes were dark with wisdom, the weight of it almost crushing thought out of his head and her smile was more than a little sad. Zack forgot often, too often, that she was a Turk as well as a woman. She was as human as everyone else was, more or less, and everyone suffered, one way or another. She just continued looking at him, hand still on the box lid; it acted like a weight preventing him from lurching out of his bed and snatching it up, devouring the letters with a mind driven by frenzied need to feel anything, something again!

"_You know as well as I do that what you must do now is choose. Where you go, what you do, how you live. All this is your choice, Zack. Grief hurts, you blame yourself, you always will."_

How bitter those words had been. How bitter and dark, like orange peel burning in the back of the throat. She lifted her hand off the box and closed the white curtain around the bed as she left, with just her sad voice echoing behind her.

"_And yet you are alive, so deal with it."_

He turned his head, stubbly hair prickling roughly on the pillow, so that his good left eye could see the box. It smelled a little like sandalwood and rose blossoms. Zack reached his hand out and lifted the lid, just enough so that there was air moving in and out of the box. There was a faint tinkle, was there jewellery or stones in there, clattering against one another? But there was the sudden smell of grass and spring rain and the earth that had caught on her boots and dirtied her hem.

He slapped the lid shut.

Instead of drawing the box to him, he picked up the slim PHS and thumbed the quick-dial number, bringing it to his right ear, a faint hum of electricity making him wince. Ringing tones made his teeth ache and his brain burn with pain, but he bore it.

"Hello," said the calm and even voice at the other end of the phone.

"Alright," he murmured, "You have a deal."

"Are you... are you sure about this?"

"As long as you don't hurt her," he closed his eyes and sighed. Sometimes the choices were like looking into muddy water and hoping for the best. "I'll do it."

"Good, I'll come by tomorrow with Reno."

"Tseng," Zack sighed, "Don't bring him, he's an annoying little bastard at the best of times."

There was laughter, short and dry. "Tomorrow, and he's still coming. Expect us after eleven."

The phone hung up, beeping quietly the dead tone into his ear. Zack let his hand fall away from holding it so close, snapping it shut with a quick flick of his fingers. He didn't bother looking at the box, not now.

Some things, they were worth forgetting.

* * *

_Dear Zack_

_Today I planted a new row of hyacinths down by the foot of the second pew. I love their scent when the air warms up. I wonder if the sun they're supposed to be seeing makes them glow the way I imagine it does. I look forward to seeing the_

"Darn," she muttered, scrubbing at a cheek furiously. Then she dabbed at the paper. Somehow, no matter what she did, she always ended up crying like a baby when she wrote these letters. After all, the massive jolt of pain she had felt... there was no way she could mistake that.

"Aerith!"

Tipping writing sand over the letter, she hoped it would soak up the tear stains as well as any excess ink. However, her useless eyes were a completely different matter. She shifted in her chair so she was staring intently into the small stand mirror she had on the desk. Yep, they were puffy and red rimmed and looked completely atrocious. She looked... awful.

"Now listen here, you," she poked at the mirror then waggled the finger, "Stop it, right this instant. Stop being such a sap. It's over with. Done with."

_Then why even bother to write letters? -_

"Oh super low blow there, mind, really smooth." Aerith huffed and folded her arms, "It's closure, that's all. I mean, I know he'd never read them but it makes me feel better."

_Why would you need to feel better if it was over with, done with? You are so infuriatingly inconsistent at times! -_

"B-because, well... I... be..." Aerith flushed, "No, I refuse to dignify that with a response. You're being alarmingly confrontational today! Or I am. Or... oh Planet, am I developing a split personality?! Urgh..." she covered her face with her hands. She wasn't ever really sure if she was arguing with herself or the personification of the Planet as part of her personality. It led to some very startling and odd conversations between parts of her mind, parts that made her sound completely doo-lally if she ever stopped to think rationally about it.

Now was one of those times when she really didn't have time to ponder it, as her mother called louder, finally getting her attention. "Aerith! Please child, come downstairs! You're being asked for!"

"Urrrrgh just when I look like a swamp monster," she groaned, getting up from her desk and instantly knocking the sand canister all over the floor. "And of course... of course! OF course!"

No, this wasn't a time to panic or freak out or even kick at the sand. Though she was sorely tempted to. Instead, she pulled her hair over her shoulder in that thick braid she wore it in and left her room, coming down the rickety and rather steep stairs to peer into the open-plan living room and dining room. At the table was a young woman she recognised.

"Jessie!" She said in surprise. "Why, what brings you here?"

The brown haired woman blushed, making her freckles on her button nose burst into life. She ruffled at her hair nervously, eyeing the clean floor and the dirt she'd tracked in without thinking about it, "You mean apart from making your mother's life atrocious?"

"Nonsense dear," Elmyra said, already sweeping at the dirt with vigour.

"That's true, mom loves to clean." Aerith smiled, crossing the joined rooms to the table, "I think she'd go crazy if she didn't have a floor to sweep or a pan to wash."

"Not that I don't lack for it should my little girl attempt to cook," Elmyra returned that smile, "I've never seen anyone use so many pots and pans for a simple meal before."

Jessie chuckled, "Mrs Gainsborough, I think she's learning, that's all."

"What, learning to make a mess?!"

"Mom!" Aerith huffed, sitting down in a chair.

Elmyra chuckled and continued to sweep at the dirt, so Jessie's attention was directed back to her. Jessie had eyes set a little too close together to be called truly pretty, but they were a gorgeous shade of brown, the same colour that made Aerith think of loam. She often tried to get her hands on the rich dirt for her flowers. But she never said as much to Jessie. No one wanted to think of others seeing their eyes and mud in the same light, even one so obsessed with botany as Aerith was. "Well I actually came to ask a favour today."

"A favour?" Aerith blinked, "You can have anything you want, within reason, I'm not going to that bar again. You drink too much."

"No no, something you're good at."

"I was good at drinking!"

"You were good at holding the floor down," Jessie said wryly, "Thank goodness it didn't escape."

Aerith bit her lip, trying not to laugh. That evening had been a riot of her unable to find legs to stand on and Kayla attempting to drag Haryettie and Jessie into a bartop dancing session. No, not an experience she was willing to attempt again so soon. The embarrassment was still strong, despite her amusement. "So what do you want?"

"You know," she paused, looking behind her. Elmyra had propped the broom by the door and was shaking out the brush-pan into the composting pile. Jessie rushed on quickly, "You know I'm in Avalanche right? Well we got this new member, but she's still banged up pretty bad. Only the materia user over in seventh is on holiday, he's gone visiting family in two. I mean, she's been spitting up some blood and some of her old wounds are aching and I wouldn't ask just-"

Aerith held up a hand, "No, I get it, it's fine, really. I'll come with you."

"Really? We don't have much money but-"

She smiled, how dear and silly her friend was. "Jessie we grew up together, don't be totally ridiculous. But you can always let them know that I want to try expanding my flower selling. Word of mouth is always super important for business!"

"Of course, oh, you're the best!" Jessie smiled brightly.

"Yep," Aerith laughed, "I guess I just am. And not just at floor-wrangling!"

* * *

The girl in the bed had dark, deep eyes with a tinge of distrust in them. But she was hunched over, in so much pain that the healer didn't need to touch her to know. Wordlessly she knelt by the bed and forcefully, with deceptively strong hands, pried off the fingers clamped about the breastbone.

Under the hands, reluctantly torn from hiding the skin and flesh, was a ragged and deep scar. It was puckered and angry and had been ham-handedly stitched up. When the cool fingertips of the shorter, slender woman moved along the spine of angry flesh, hissed expletives hit the lips of the bed-ridden patient but she didn't pull away. If anything, the patient pressed into the fingers, taunting, daring and even begging for them to fix her. Those dark eyes challenged with an angry, hurt fire that said 'Fix me. Break me. One or the other.'

It was old, old enough that it should have healed well by now, had a healer with half a brain had hands on it. Instead it wasn't. So she looked to see that Jessie hovered in the shadows by the door and nodded her head. The door closed, latch locking the two women inside. She turned her attention back to the scar, rather than those eyes, gathering her magic into her fingertips, to weave the sutures and undo the damage, even reknit the flesh as would be needed.

"I won't lie to you, this will really hurt," she said softly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," the voice in reply was harsh with pain, not all of it physical. "Can you fix me?"

The hope poured there was vibrant in it's desperation. Aerith closed her eyes briefly, then placed her palm over the chest of the girl, squarely over the area of the ribcage where she could feel the heart beat strongest. Then she looked up at her. There was a year or maybe less between them. That was all. It may as well have been a gulf.

"Do you want to be fixed?"

The girl stared at her, eyes burning. Then she was surprised by the pressure against her hand. It was the unshrinking, unwavering hand of her patient. The palm was taunt with callouses and hard word, knotted sinew and lean, trained muscle with long and clever fingers. Her hand was being pressed upon, hard into the scar-wound, so hard that it tore, blood seeping against her palm. The medic in her drew back in revulsion, but physically she stayed still.

"My name is Tifa Lockhart," the patient said then, still staring at her, "I'm from Nibelheim and ShinRa destroyed my entire life, everything. I don't have enough hope to give to the wish to be fixed. Instead, all I can do is wait..."

She nodded, then replied as she began her magic to the silence of her patient, silence that ate up pain and spat out nothing. Tifa was strong, she marvelled. "I'm Aerith... let me fix you..."


	2. Chapter 2

**Once Upon an Immortal City**

_**Remembering the girl, leaves me down and lonely...**_

**02: Grey Skies, Mourning**

* * *

"When I was little, there was a festival we held in the town. It was a spring one, we liked to celebrate the turn of the seasons. It's always important to ring through the changes, especially when you live in farming country and Gaia knows we lived as far into the country as you could get without banjoes making appearances alongside rockers and terrible dentistry. Anyway, it was this festival where we gathered spring flowers and made wreathes for the graves of our departed loved ones. I was making one, for my mother, she'd only just passed away from illness and I was still trying to understand grief. I made one of bluebells and snowdrops, I made it look like a ring of stars to use as a crown. I liked stars.

"That was when I saw him, he looked like he'd been in a few fights again. Back then, it was a badge of honour for him, bruises and scrapes and the disapproving look of the adults. But when we made the long parade of flowers, singing to the spirits of the harvest, trying to draw the attention of those gone into the beyond back to the planet, just for a short while, that I saw him holding his mothers hand, and I think I knew. It wasn't him holding onto her for reassurance, it was the other way around. When we stood by mama's grave and laid the flowers down to clothe the newly emerging grass, my father's hand was heavy on my shoulder. I'd never taken the time to understand him, but just then I knew, this man needed me. This was grief."

Tifa sighed, leaning back in the bar so her shoulders jingled on the upside down spirit bottles, her eyes distant and once again, deeply ringed by shadows, sleepless marks of nights spent looking at the stars she had loved once and praying with a heart made of glass. Aerith sat across the bar on one of the stools, glass in one hand and her basket of flowers tucked by the end of the counter with a jar for money. Tifa smiled sadly, looking somewhere else that Aerith couldn't see, "I wonder how much I needed him too."

"Your father?"

"Yeah, and Cloud too in a way," she chuckled, shaking her head, "But he's dead. Cloud died years ago now in some monstrous experiments the ShinRa did." Her hands found the rag for cleaning the bar quickly, hiding her scarred knuckles among the folds of dirtied linen so she could spare the gentle healer the sight of her anger. "I've learned to live with knowing there aren't second chances in this world. You make a bad mistake and the world just spits you out after chewing you up."

"I don't believe that," Aerith replied, tilting her glass so the ice-cubes clinked.

The look that Tifa gave her was flat and dark, under drawn eyebrows. "Well, some of us don't have the great life you did, you know."

"I guess," Aerith flushed. She wasn't about to talk about her own past, that wasn't the point of these daily talks. Instead she gestured to her own chest, changing the subject with skill rapidly. "How's the wound feeling today?"

"Hmm oh, that ointment you gave me worked incredibly well, it's not feeling tight at all," Tifa patted between her breasts with vigour. The barmaid loved to do anything with feeling, it seemed. Nothing was ever half hearted in the house of Lockhart. "I even managed to get my first decent nights sleep!"

"You're a bad liar," Aerith muttered into her drink, sipping at it.

"What was that?"

"I said, you're looking to hire?" She crooked a finger at the sign propped by the door, blushing a little at her own deception. She felt relatively proud of it, if she had to be pushed to say anything. "Business going well?"

"Yeah!" Tifa smiled, this one was genuine. When it came to her beloved business, Tifa was enthusiastic as Aerith was about flowers and plants. The tinkle of money, the happy smiles of customers, that was what made the barmaid glow with happiness. "I'm hoping to get a part timer in. Plus, having your fresh flowers here draws in extra punters for me. Which, I think, was a brilliant move on my part."

"And it certainly helps my pockets out," she smiled too.

"Saving up for something special?"

Aerith felt at the pocket of her jacket; her latest letter to a dead person rustled there, a guilty pleasure that hooked against her clothing, reminding her that it still existed. That she was still not letting go, not like she was still desperate to convince herself she was doing. That this letter, like all those before it, was the last, stamped and signed for. He was gone, he was... gone for good. She jumped, realising she'd been silent a bit too long and laughed, scrunching her nose up to try and stop tears, "Oh m-my... yes yes. Something absolutely special! I think it's made of a lot of small wishes, big ones just... don't come true..."

"Oh and what are small wishes and big wishes? Aren't they all the same?"

The healer pointed at her basket of flowers, directing Tifa's attention there. "Those flowers, each one is a small wish. People come and buy them, to give their little wishes of hope and affection to others."

"Okay and then what's a big wish to you?"

"A big wish is never going to come true," she chuckled, "Or rather, I already had that wish. It fell out of the sky and said it would give me the sun. I wished for that, with my whole heart. Just that one thing." She pressed a hand against the jacket pocket. Dammit, she was going to cry now. "I... I..."

Tifa's arms were there without warning, wrapping about her thin shoulders. She could feel the tense muscles of the barmaid, used to brawling and training for hours on end. In comparison she felt as fragile as a twig. But Tifa was warm, and the hand that smoothed her hair had practise smoothing the fretful dreams of Marlene, a child who lived over the bar with her adoptive father. She wasn't going to cry, she wasn't weak! She was over this, she was so beyond over this!

_Cry. Cry for him and you. You aren't over it. Can you ever get over this? -_

"I see," Tifa said softly into Aerith's hair, her breath stirring the golden strands, "I'm sorry, for what I said earlier. I didn't know, I'm an idiot."

"I didn't want to tell anyone," Aerith whispered, her voice choked by the razor sharp shards of tears. She clung to the taller, younger woman, shaking as she still tried to fight the sobs that were already running up her spine with sour, salty footsteps. "I loved him, I loved him!"

"I'm sorry," Tifa murmured, "Just cry, just cry now."

Aerith cried.

* * *

_Dear Zack..._

The box was open on his desk, staring at him from the inside lid was her name, written and then carefully carved so it seemed twined with roses and thorns. It was in her beautiful and elegant script. He hadn't touched a single letter since the day he had been given the carved box, instead he just sat and looked at it, imagining her voice. It only spoke those words when he opened the lid, looking into the box at the neatly stacked envelopes. Sometimes, the words seemed to hold a smile and sometimes a kiss, a kiss he would daydream he could feel on his cross shaped scar.

A noise from outside his door made him lean forward and snap the box closed, cutting off the scent of earth and that delicate, gentle voice that tortured his dreams.

"Go away, Reno," he sighed, rubbing at his right eye with fingertips. It was still healing, he needed a damn good materia user to finalise the science, but for now with his lack of 20-20 vision, he preferred to hide it behind an eye-patch. Plus, the silly kid in him reasoned, he looked a bit more like a pirate this way.

The door cracked open and Reno, predictably, craned his head about the doorway, peering into the room and then at Zack. Reno looked like someone had dragged him forcibly out of bed, through a laundrette then through a hedge backwards, then thrown some hair gel at him as a terrible sort of afterthought to the mane of red hair that was loosely held back with a slip of leather.

Zack on the other hand, had closely cut black hair, now long enough to be cut into a short style rather than just hacked off to the scalp. He wore the smooth eye-patch with the symbol of his specialised field, a sigil of Soldier and the typical Turk outfit. Well, somewhat. He wore the tailored suit jacket and pants, but retained his roll neck purple shirt and leather fingerless gloves with those metal sliding plates that he could interchange in and out on the back of his hands. He tapped a finger now against the report on his desk, "What do you want?"

"Hmm just seeing how you're doing, boss sent me," Reno affected a very bored expression, his eyes briefly latching onto the wooden box, then to Zack, "Didn't want you to be getting sidetracked."

It took all of Zack's available willpower to not grind his teeth together, instead, forcing a smile onto his face that did interesting things to the cross shaped scar. "No, I'm settled in just fine."

"Not, you know, distracted?"

"Not at all. I know exactly what is being asked of me, after all." He continued to smile, jaw aching. "I can play a puppet just as well as the rest of them."

"Puppets get their strings broken."

"Redheads get their knees broken if they keep up trying to be intimidating."

"Pfft, I've seen your depth perception right now, Fair. It'd be a miracle if you could make it to touching me, let along knee-capping me."

"Who said anything about close physical contact? I'm still a very adept materia user."

"Wow, a muscle head who knows the right end of a magic spell," Reno sneered a little, but then smiled, "You're alright, Fair."

"You're a real pain in my ass, Reno." Zack sighed, rubbing at his cheek and rolled his eyes, "Seriously, just go away, I don't have it in me to deal with you today."

"Thinking about her?" Reno slid inside, door closing behind him. Hadn't he just told him to go away? That was the precise opposite of what that annoying redhead was doing, let along slouching now into the couch with all the refined grace of a boneless cat on ice.

"Not really." Zack scowled, "Why can't I get Cissnei to deal with? She doesn't make me want to beat my head against the wall and scream as much as you do."

"Hey, I'm a pro, bro," Reno tilted his head back so his expression was unreadable, "We sent her out to Corel anyway, something going down there. So you're stuck with me."

"Awesome."

"I sure am."

Zack sighed. Well, if he was stuck with him, he should probably spend more time trying to understand the annoying redhead. "Say, Reno?"

"Mmm?"

"Will they hold up their end of this deal?"

"It's hard to say, ShinRa does whatever is in it's best interests, you know?" Reno shifted a little, trying to get comfortable on the leather couch. "But, they wouldn't harm her, not really. She's important."

"How important?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, not yet." The man laughed.

"Try me."

"Nah, not today."

Zack glanced again at the carved box. This was all he could do for her right now, this was all he would be able to do for her. What he had done, it was unforgivable. It was the burden he would carry with him forever, a burden he would never share with her. Now, knowing more of the fate of the world as it all came unravelling about him, there was only one option left.

Protect the Ancient, at all costs. No... protect Aerith. He reached out and opened the box lid, peering once again at that carved name and then running his fingers over it. It really had been crafted with patience and superb skill. "Reno," he said.

Silence. He turned his piercing blue eyes to the man laid on his couch, slumped further down and breathing evenly, a hint of a catch in his breath that suggested at a snore to come. Slacking off from work and catching a nap in his room; that was so much like the laid back Reno it was almost criminal. Well, Zack reasoned, there wasn't a whole lot going on at ShinRa HQ these days, and maybe getting in sleep whilst he could was the best Reno could do.

He leaned back in his own chair. "It's a promise," he whispered to himself.

_Dear Zack..._

* * *

"I'm not doing this for anyone," the woman snarled, slamming down her pad, the papers ruffling. Her stare was intense, boring through the dust that floated about them.

Cissnei swallowed but held onto her leg, gripping at the tourniquet with fierce resolve. The wound was deep and jagged and without the expert help of this woman, it was unlikely she would live long. Well, even with it, it didn't look good, but maybe she would gather enough information to be of help to someone. There was something in the face of this woman that tugged at her from the inside, that made her pause and look closely. It wasn't fear or panic; but sadness, desperation.

She knew those emotions well, however cold-hearted she tried to make herself seem. She wasn't a robot, after all.

The woman relented, sighing softly and tugging at her lab coat, "But if I do this, will you tell me where Shelke is?"

"I'll tell you what I know."

"That's a start. You can call me Shalua, if you live," the woman adjusted her glasses in the dim light, "Now lean back and bite on the stick, because I'm not sure how much of this you'll feel before you pass out."

Cissnei bit on the stick. Even after she started to scream, she continued to bite until splinters riddled her mouth.

* * *

_Dear Zack,_

_I have twenty-three tiny wishes, but you probably won't remember them all, so I put them all together into one... I'd like to spend more time with you._

_Just you._

_Aerith._


	3. Chapter 3

**Once Upon an Immortal City**

_I've had this black suit on, rolling around...  
One more mile til the road runs out.  
I'm about to drive to the ocean  
I'mma try to swim from something bigger_

_than me..._

**03: Waiting for a Funeral**

* * *

It was quiet outside that morning, the few things stirring amounted to the tradesmen making their way to set up business for the coming day. He was leaned against the side of the building, shirt hung untucked and his jacket open as he toyed with the nightstick, moving it between hands deftly. His partner was coming back over to their position, hands occupied by cups of steaming coffee or what passed for coffee in the slums. Reno was grateful for anything to take the edge off being awake and liberated one of the cups out of Rude's hands. Luckily they both took their coffee black and without sugar; Rude from a taste standpoint and Reno out of pure bone idleness. The less effort he had to put into anything, the better, not to mention his sense of taste was dulled with years of hanging about seedy bars in his free time.

He tipped some of the still-scalding liquid into his mouth, then breathed out a sigh of satisfaction as it warmed him on the way down, "Ah, you'd think that without a sky they'd trap more heat down here."

"Maybe that's why she wore a jacket today," Rude muttered, sitting on a stump of rubble by his partner, leather gloved hands creaking as he cupped the drink. He didn't have Reno's asbestos lined gullet and stomach and he enjoyed a mouth that didn't blister at having boiling hot liquid tipped into it. His eyes, behind those inscrutable shades he always wore, were pinned on the ramshackle church.

More of the scaffolding had fallen down over the weekend, Reno mused. It was a real shame, once this had been a truly beautiful church. The records of civil engineering in Midgar made detailed records of the craftsmanship that had gone into making it a true architectural wonder, even nestled as it was amongst the slums, forgotten by daylight and clogged with grime. Time had been careless with it. Though the stained glass windows remained they no longer shone and let light in as they once had, covered in a thick layer of dirt. The doors had warped on the frames and some of the top parts of the church, including the steeple, had fallen through. The sagging roof and piles of dropped tiles, left to clog the side-streets of the church, were sad little reminders that no one cared.

No, he corrected himself; She still cared.

Busying about each morning in her clothes, each day a new shade of pink or red, accented with cream, white and sometimes soft greens and blues. In her thick gardening boots, scuffed and torn at the turned over tops; her small gardening basket tucked away with breakfast, a meager offering to her stomach and her gardening materials. Her gloves, worn and loved and her trowel. Once he had watched her drag a heavy bag of peat, careful not to spill any but struggling none the less. He had offered help. But the look she had given him had been an entirely curious one: Fear, disgust and pity. All in one little smile that she pasted on her angelic face whilst waving him away.

Suddenly angry, Reno snorted, "Well more the fool her. My mother's hairy ass it's cold," he chafed his hands up and down his arms, careful to not spill his drink. "You don't happen to have another pair of those gloves do ya?"

"No."

"Oh damn why didn't I think this morning," he groaned, tilting his head back, "I was so busy being hungover. It's my own stupid fault. No, you don't have to say it. I had a great night out though. You shoulda seen Elena singing, it was karaoke time with the human resources department and they sure know how to swing a party into gear!"

"I see."

"If I hadn't spent the weekend thinking about what he'd said..." Reno narrowed his eyes, staring up at the underside of the vast plate that covered the ceiling of the slums. "Do you know, it's the first time in a while I stopped to really think about it."

"What's that?"

"Is this really right?"

Rude puckered the lid of the coffee he held, dimpling it down and in so he could take a swig of the cooler coffee through it. He swallowed, then said quietly in his calm and reasonable voice; "Does that matter now, has it ever?"

"I don't know. I keep thinking, knowing what we know about her, is it right for us to do this?" He lifted his free hand, knuckling the back of his hand into his eyes, "She's always been chased by us. But if she's really one of them, then... …I was told the stories growing up you know? I remember how they described them. Caretakers. She's not a weapon, she's a person."

"Growing a conscience?"

"Maybe but it feels so much like it's so little and far too late."

"What about Zack?"

Ah, that idiot. Reno grinned, but it felt tight on his face. Someone else's smile worn by him, all the rage this season! "He seems so set on taking that path the higher ups offered him. Seems more to me like the cowards way out."

"He said he did it for her," Rude nodded at the church.

"No, he did it for himself."

"Himself?"

"A coward thinks of himself only. He might think he's being a hero, a tragic one, protecting her this way. But in the end, he tied strings to his hands and legs and cut any he had going to his heart. He's become as empty as Sephiroth and stupider than any hero could hope to be. Angeal would toss in his grave if he knew..." Reno shook his head, red hair flopping about then settling over one shoulder like a waterfall. "He's going about it all wrong, man, all wrong."

"That is his choice, his path alone to walk."

"You idiot," he snapped at his seated partner, "No one walks any path alone, ever. People cross paths all the time. You're never alone and what he chooses to do- just... urgh!" He gave up and kicked at a piece of scaffolding, hearing it ring hollowly. "No, it doesn't matter at all. Forget I said anything. Let him be stupid, by his stupid self. I'm not going to let this shit get out of hand."

"Reno?"

"If the puppy can't man up then-"

They both jumped together, heads turning towards the church door that closed in the distance. Standing outside was the short woman they were both set to watching, her golden hair loosely braided and held up from her heart shaped face. As she dusted down her hands, tucking her gardening gloves into the short red jacket, the front left pocket, her eyes were on them. Despite the distance, Reno felt their intensity.

"If you two are going to just hang about, then you could at least make sure no one stamps on my flowers, alright?" She called up to them, her voice cool and clear like spring water.

"Uh, alright," Reno scowled. "Just stop talking to us, man, you're making us look bad."

Then he saw her smile, hiding it behind a hand and shake her head. With a tip of her hand to the two suited men, she began walking back towards her home sector, humming softly to herself. Both of the Turks watched her go, then Rude turned his head towards his partner, who was watching her intently. "That was odd."

"Zack is a freaking moron," Reno spat, tearing the lid off his coffee and downing whatever he had left. He didn't bother finishing his earlier sentence, Rude had already guessed most likely. That's what he enjoyed about his partner in crime, he always read beneath the surface. Down where Reno was troubled and he couldn't quite bring himself to say why.

* * *

The days came and went, every day she came to the bar Tifa felt like talking just a little bit more. Maybe it was only a few words more than yesterday, but it was a small victory. In time, Tifa even began to look forward to the times when Aerith would come and visit her, to distract her perhaps, from thinking too much and feeling so little in comparison to her pain and hatred. Before she knew it, days were weeks. Weeks, as they liked to hang about in thuggish groups together, became months.

Four or so months later, as she was rinsing out a cup, she felt it. It was a strange little twitch at first, a mere hint at the corner of her mouth. But it was there. And it didn't go unnoticed.

"Oh, oh!" Aerith cooed, cupping her hands to her face. The rag was left forgotten on the bartop and her large, green eyes burst into life, gleeful and a hint playful. "I saw it!"

"Saw what," Tifa snorted, turning her back hurriedly.

It wasn't anything close to a deterrant: Aerith scooped over the side of Tifa, eyes wide with mischief and as she was, bent a touch at her waist, peering up at Tifa's face with one finger held up to her own mouth, the left corner. "You smiled."

"I did not."

"Oh but you did, I saw it, most definitely," The flower-girl grinned. "I saw you smile, Teef!"

"You're imagining useless things again," Tifa tried turning away, but this presented her with the mirrored back of the bar. Seeing her own flushed expression at being hounded, she couldn't stop the twitching of both corners of her mouth into a very small, faint smile. How long had it been since she just smiled because she felt happy? How long had it been since... wait, she was happy?

Aerith straightened up, laughing, "Oh if I only had a camera!"

"I'd break the lens."

"Why, you're not ugly at all. You're very beautiful, Teef, especially when you smile." Aerith reached over the taller woman's shoulders, fingers going to the corners of her mouth and stretching it wider, almost comically so. "Cheeeeeeeese."

"I look ridiculous."

"So? It's okay to be ridiculous sometimes."

Tifa pulled Aerith's hands down from her face, trying to get back some of her dignity, however tattered it was quickly becoming in the face of Aerith's brevity. "You surely didn't just come here to clean my dishes and make fun of me, did you?"

"What if I did?" Those eyes really were too full of good humour. A little part of Tifa just groaned inwardly. As much as she wanted to run Aerith out of the bar, it was true that she was her friend, her closest friend at that and this really was what she needed sometimes. To feel less burdened.

"Are they still following you?"

"I don't know, I haven't seen them in a while. I was starting to wonder if they'd gone and gotten themselves hurt, you know?"

Tifa shot her a flat look, filling it to the brim with disapproval, "Nothing good comes from having ShinRa hanging around like a flies on a dead horse."

Aerith gave her a flat look, clearly amused, "I'm a dead horse now?"

"Neigh," Tifa said, and there it was again, that damn lip-twitching so she hurriedly ducked down, pretending she was looking for a cleaner bar rag in the small tub she kept under the bar.

"That was a horrific pun."

"I'm ashamed of myself, forgive me, if it be-hooves you."

"Oh Planet, they get worse!"

Tifa covered her mouth with a hand, unable to stop herself, "Sorry to have saddled you with my jokes. They're mane-ly bad. I'm afraid I can't crop them out of my routine, sadly."

"Stop! Stop!" Aerith laughed, "You win! Queen of Puns!"

"Do I get a fancy hat?" Tifa stood up, new rag in hand, "I'd love one, in purple velvet and gaudy gold lettering. 'Queen of Puns', it has a nice ring to it."

"You're terrible," the flower girl grinned, back against the inner front of the bar, so she was still watching as Tifa worked, her basket of flowers nearly empty for the day. Business had been brisk. "But, back on topic, I know having them around isn't really good for me, but all they're doing is watching me. Unless they do more than that, I can't really give ground for complaints."

"Hmm, well don't let Barrett know, he'd get mad."

"That's true. He'd start waving his arms like a cheerleader on a caffeine high and rush in there, cursing up a storm. My flowers would be ruined, my poor flowers..."

"Nothing has happened to your flowers," Tifa poked at Aerith, "Don't get sad over stuff that is only hypothetical."

"Ah, you don't understand the love of a botanist!"

"Ah-huh."

"Besides, I asked them to watch out for the flowers if all they were going to do was hang around and complain about the climate in the slums." She grinned and not for the first time, the barmaid wondered if Aerith ever brought that cheerful head of hers out of the clouds and back down to gaia with the rest of them. "Reno in particular looked grumpy today, he was talking about puppy dogs."

"What?"

"Mmm, he was upset and kicked some of the debris, maybe he has a puppy he can't housebreak."

"Which one is Reno again?"

Aerith tugged at her braided hair, "Ah, the scruffy red-head with the facial markings and long hair in a lazy ponytail."

"The one who looks like he's never heard of an ironing board?"

"That's the one!"

Tifa tutted: she knew his type. Spent all his money on useless crap and barely gave any thought to the week ahead. Probably he looked so unkempt because he was always out drinking, putting his paycheck to good use in bars and on women that never called him back. A little bitterly, she wished he threw his money around in her bar, they could do with a bit more income to replace some of the floorboards in the secret base that Jessie accidentally took out with one of her Prima-Bombs. "I can't imagine him having a dog, he can barely look after himself."

"Then, maybe he's looking after it for a friend?"

She nearly laughed at the very idea of anyone trusting that scruffbag with their pet, but then, anything was possible. After all, she had nearly smiled today. "Maybe."

"Tifa," Aerith said, after a comfortable amount of silence had stretched between them. She was toying with one of the cloths, pulling it between her hands and inspecting the stains that even washing hadn't been able to bring out of the weave.

"What is it?" Tifa lowered her hand from changing one of the spigots on the whisky.

"Do you ever want to go home?"

"Huh?!" She blinked. "Home?!"

"Yeah, back to Nibelheim? Do you ever..."

"There is no home for me to go back to," Tifa sighed. "This is my home now. Shin-Ra saw to that."

Aerith was silent, so she turned back to meddling once again with the whisky, uncorking it so she could fit the measurement attachment. The drifting smell of delicious aged whisky made her mouth water. Tifa had loved whisky since a young age. It reminded her of her father, how he would take a glass of it at the weekend. How he had told her carefully that whisky is best when only served with ice, that the heat of the liquor was beautiful when held against the chill of the cubes. The smell was winter, when her mother made her cakes, secretly laced with dashes of whisky, brandy and sometimes little droplets of orange liquor. Happier times.

A tear slid down her cheek, but she didn't move to wipe it away.

She had intended for Cloud to be the one to try her latest drink, Nibelheim Heights she called it. Cream, whiskey and a shot of liquid chocolate, wrapped with shaved ice. Warm, like home. Cold, like the mountains.

Starry eyed promises made as children, dreams of a better life, being a tour guide, being strong... what did any of that matter now? None of it did. Arms were there, around her middle and a face buried into her back, against her long dark hair, making her jump with surprise. Tifa tilted her head, looking behind her just enough to see the tear streaked face of Aerith pressed into her, the slender arms trembling violently and holding on with feeble but determined strength.

"Aerith...?"

"Don't cry!" sobbed the flower girl. "Don't cry!"

Tifa lifted a hand to her face, surprised when her fingers came away slick with tears. Had one tear become so many, so quickly? She wiped furiously at her face but they seemed to just keep on coming. "I'm not crying!" She said, trying to be angry, but finding only the last emotion she had expected. Acceptance.

"You are," Aerith near shouted, stunning Tifa with the vehemence used, "You can cry, so cry! But don't cry without a reason! Tell me what's wrong, tell me so I can help!"

"I..." her voice stuttered and choked, then as it kept on cracking, she said more softly, "I don't have a home..."

"That's not true," the girl was weeping now, her arms tightening as if Tifa's confession had given her strength, "You have a home here, with us."

"With you?"

"Yes!"

A home, with Barrett who was angry but gentle and kind. Where Marlene did her homework and shyly offered to try all the desserts that Tifa made, shared secrets about her toys and clung to her when she was scared. It was a home filled with the sound of Jessie's tinkering and sometimes explosions, where Biggs and Wedge would come and argue over food, girls and drinks. It was crowded in the evenings with people from all over the slums, people coming from sectors distant just because Tifa's cooking was good and the drinks made so well for fair prices. It was a home where Aerith had found peace too, able to bury her fears and her sadness, together with Tifa.

"I love this home," Tifa wept, unable to stop the tears, "I'm so scared, what if Shin-Ra takes this away from me too? Aerith, I-"

"I won't let them," the voice was hard, determined. "I'll always save you, Tifa."

She laughed, still weeping, so it came out as a choked sound. "You're so strange, you know that?"

"I know."

But for now, that was more than enough for Tifa.

* * *

Barrett chuckled, lowering the book and peering down at Marlene, cuddled into her bed and determinedly trying to fight the sleep that was working silent magic against her willpower. "You're still not asleep yet?" He rumbled.

Marlene shook her head, even though her eyes were lidded and tired. "Not yet, finish the story."

"I gotcha," he winked at her, thumbing through the book, "Now, where were we?"

"The princess was ill," she prompted.

"That's right, now... ah yes," he coughed, then continued, "'And so it was that Theophania who had fought hard for her country against the dark clutches of the King of Nightmares was gravely ill. The arrow she had thought a grazing wound was poisoned. Alone and unwilling to tell any of her troubles, the Princess sought out the night.

"'This was because the night was a wonderful place in the world, where stars bloomed like flowers in the sky and the waters ran crystal and cold. Fairies with wings of gossamer shed their forms of day and skittered about on breezes warm and chill and in the darkness, the very plants seemed to come alive, dancing and making merry as they never did during the daylight. The Princess was not of the folk of the Night, she had been born into the Sun and this was strange territory for her. However, something made her walk away from the celebrations into that dark wood.'"

"Oh no," Marlene muttered, sleepily and eyes slowly closing, "Don't go..."

"'Theophania was brave though and the darkness did not worry at her as it might others. She reasoned that she would pass into the night, like a fairy, fading from the world now her deeds were done. However, by chance, she came upon a brilliant disk of water and standing in the lake was a woman. The woman seemed made of moonlight, spun with strands of silver and eyes as green as the water lilies she tended to with gentle hands. Theophania, overcome by the poison, lowered herself to her knees, then sank to the ground, unable to continue.

"'But it was a voice that came to her and said, 'Rise up and be a Queen once more.' The Princess opened her eyes, to see the strange woman crowning her with a circlet woven of stars and water lilies. The eyes that looked back at her were beautiful, gentle, soft. The careful hands lifted the water of the lake to the wound that she carried and cleansed the poison and pain away.

"'Theophania, troubled and awed whispered, 'Who are you, so mighty, to be a Goddess in the darkness?' The woman would only smile, pulling the Princess up with her. Held by these fragile hands, together they danced across the surface of the lake.

"'Hours later, Theophania awoke in her tent, at the camp. Her wound gone, she felt bemused by what surely had been a dream, spirited off by that strange night of victory. But as she stepped outside, to greet the new day, all bent knee upon seeing the crown of stars given by the great Goddess of the Moon. And all would come to call her, Queen of the Light, Theophania. The End.'" Barrett closed the book, looking down at the young girl, fast asleep. Sliding it as soundlessly as he could onto the night-stand at the side of Marlene's bed, he got up and left the room, closing the door to with a faint click.

"Moon goddess, huh? If only fairytales were true." He rubbed at his eyes, deciding to go and tell Tifa to finish her chores for the night. Moving through the house over the bar, he found her after some searching, alarmed a little when she hadn't been in the already darkened bar.

She was instead curled up on the couch, one hand wrapped about a letter, the envelope decorated with flowers and stars. It was a faint pinkish colour, standing out in the dim light in the room. But it was Tifa's face that caught at him. It had been a mystery sometimes, why this girl had come to him so eagerly. She had sworn to take out these reactors, the corrupt government, the people who had hurt her as much as they had to Barrett and Marlene. But here, tucked into the sofa, there was less pain in her sleeping face. There was beauty, as always, but now a kind of softness growing there, less anticipation for a funeral she could never attend.

Barrett picked up the blanket that rested, slung on the back of the couch, then spread it over Tifa, tucking her in as he had done Marlene. "Rest up, Teef, you deserve it."

With a last look around the room, he turned down the fire and switched the lamp off, throwing the room into near darkness, and with a soft click, closed the door behind himself and let her sleep.


End file.
